


sun in an empty room

by farawatt



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Captivity, Dark Tony Stark, Gangbang, Heavy Angst, Introspection, M/M, Rape, Torture, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-18 18:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19340149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farawatt/pseuds/farawatt
Summary: Melancholy is dangerous.It's funny how you forgive the past to try and revive it.





	sun in an empty room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nanasekei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasekei/gifts).



> Thanks to OhGodOhNoOhFuckImGayFuckOhNo, Vivian and BatS for the beta.

The first thing Steve notices, when he sees the man, is that his eyes are the glowing colour of the Tesseract. 

 

The second thing is that _Tony_ is a machine; he feels he is being observed by a much more advanced armor model, an almost perfect imitation of a human. 

 

Thinks that, maybe, this is what Tony always wanted to be. 

 

The blue-eyed Tony laughs, low and soft, charming, as Steve has not heard in months. Tony uncrosses his legs and gets up. This man is taller, Steve realizes; he walks as if he were floating, as if the weight that made Tony bend more and more each day has been lifted. 

 

"I know what you're thinking," Tony says, stroking Steve’s cheek with his thumb. "You've always been so easy to read". 

 

 _“You are not him”_ , he wants to respond, but the gag keeps his mouth open and his saliva drips onto the carpet. 

 

"I am him," the eyes blink red, "but superior". 

 

  * ••



 

Steve straddles _this_ Tony's cock, letting him caress his thighs in exchange for air and, hopefully, food. Tony’s eyes shine red in the bizarre lights, and war cries. 

 

Steve thinks he might be hallucinating.

 

"You like it," Tony moans, looking at him at if Steve is expected to be contradictory, despite the gag in his mouth, "damn it, Steve". 

 

He comes when Tony orders it. He does not know enough about this Tony, but the moment his penis can no longer stand up, he knows Tony will start thinking about other games. 

 

Steve isn’t sure he can win this time.

 

  * ••



 

This Tony is cruel, twists the gears in his face, changes the inhuman eyes to caramel brown and the hair to grey, when he wants Steve to cry. 

 

"You really have no fucking idea".

 

  * ••



 

"Oh, honey, aren’t you charming", the smile widens. He smells like vodka and expensive cologne. 

 

Steve didn’t know that the thing that this Tony had become could get drunk. 

 

The silk robe slips down, exposes a bare shoulder, when the man leans against the concrete wall. He looks fucked in a familiar way. It’s soothing.  

 

He finds himself pleading. 

 

  * ••



 

He sleeps on the floor. The cars pass by and move away. There is only one source of light. 

 

He’s shrunk in an unfinished picture of Hopper. 

 

  * ••



 

In the middle of a room that contains a bed. He doesn’t remember being moved. On the bed, made of iron and covered with gold, hangs a cross. 

 

Tony kisses him on the back of the neck, one arm around his chest, palm open over his heart. The cross shines despite the scarcity of windows. Steve looks at it all the time, looking innocent, the idea is distorted, as if it were out of tune. 

 

"Right between his legs," Tony whispers when he notices. 

 

  * •• 



 

Steve moans as a rope is adjusted between his balls.

 

"Stay still," the bare foot presses his face against the carpet. Tony's voice is soft, his fingers move over him the same as they did over a prototype, over another suit of armor. 

 

Steve vividly remembers how it felt to be touched like a human. He wonders if Tony does. 

 

A finger pressed against his perineum and then penetrates him. 

 

Steve doesn’t move. 

 

  * •• 



 

A body. Steve looks at the mirror room, which is equivalent to looking at himself. 

 

 _Just a body_ , Tony emphasizes. Nothing but a body.

 

Steve waits for the resurgence of his soul.

 

  * •• 



 

Tony keeps his face up, despite the tears falling on his wrists. He doesn’t remember when he last laughed without tears. 

 

  * •• 



 

Steve suspects the reflection is looking back at him, looking for a soul that has left without anyone realising it. 

 

  * ••



 

Spit the Buchanan's in his face. Steve licks his lips and then the floor, his tongue crushed against dirt. It's what they offer him today. They prepared him for this.

 

To survive.

 

  * ••



 

This is where they met, he can not identify _why_.  Natasha was smiling at him because of an inside joke that he can't remember anymore. All he has left is his memory, and that is now dubious at best. However, he can reconstruct the megawatt billionaire’s smile, like Tony's look (endearing, with the tired lines that are now blue scars). 

 

  * ••



 

"Dance with me," Tony staggers with the rhythm, extends his hand to him, in the manner of an illusory _please_. Steve staggers with his broken knee. He needs to reach Tony. A hand sinks his head in a shoulder, any shoulder. One step and two steps and the pain in his knee appears in his chest and changes in the refrain. 

 

 _Give me your hand, turn in this silence, try to breathe_. 

 

Steve trembles. 

 

Tony kisses his head as if he wanted it. 

 

"You're dead," Tony says. Steve hums in agreement.  

 

 _Give me your hand, turn in this silence, try to breathe_.

 

  * ••



 

It is repeated again and again. One of them will fight and fail. Steve will fight until both his hands and legs are broken, his heart shattered. Tony will violate his mind and violate his body. Will watch his reflection. He will think of others with the same destiny. Is old; is dead. 

 

One thing never changes: the iron hand remains on his shoulder.

 

  * ••



 

The ticking of the clock is a fake memory. The passage of time is measured in hammer blows against welding. 

 

  * •• 



 

Steve can understand why Bucky no longer looked him in the eye.

 

Captain America is a shadow. 

 

 _A corpse_ , Tony corrects, stirring the cognac in the glass. 

 

His fist hits nothing. 

 

  * ••



 

Steve tries to be ready to fight. Tries using his shoulders as a lever, tries to growl and tries anger. Tony, in his navy blue silk robe, compliments this position with a nod. 

 

Vomits cum on the carpet. Tony tries to make his cock harden. Steve tightens his lips. His imagination is defective; he can still see himself in bonfires and laughter, the smell of cinnamon, the stars in Germany. If he squints, not here, but in his memory, the streets widen, the Cathedral rises. Natasha surrounds him with her arms, Sam tells a story, Bucky snores to his right, maybe... the rain is far away from him.

 

Tony slaps him across the face "Concentrate". 

 

The semen mixes with the blood. His lip burns. In the midst of hysteria, he laughs. He feels that, if he presses his ear, Sam will answer the call. 

 

Tony breaks his wrist before he can try it. 

 

  * ••



 

Melancholy is dangerous. 

 

It's funny how _you_ forgive the past to try and revive it. 

 

  * ••



 

Walk two miles to get gas for the stove. When he gets home his mother's purse is still in the armchair. Walk into Sarah's room, cold feet sliding on the wood; Mom breathes fast, sweats, writhes in bed because of the pain. She’s dead two weeks later. 

 

What attracts Steve to the memory is not the sadness inherent in the loss of a loved one; what makes him keep it is the vision of his future and the encounter with his past (he will have another great encounter in the following years, his life will be based on these encounters). The predestination. Steve bears the pain of his mother, the lack of a father and so many anachronistic sorrows that no one will ever tell him.

 

 

**•••**

 

 

These are scenes without voices in the background. 

 

Steve enters the mirror room with the body on display. He walks as he’s seen so many other times in the prisoner camps: his back erect in dissimulation of his resignation. He’s afraid to meet his eyes in the mirrors. He barely manages to escape from a glance when he recognizes the large bed and the shining wooden cross: it captivates his attention instantly. Anticipates what he should do. 

 

He lies on the bed without sheets. The sight of his body bruised on the ceiling: the broken fingers; the hips with blue-green smudges; the twisted ankle; the bend of the broken nose. The taste of his blood on his tongue causes gagging he is afraid to commit. The ring around his penis forces him to harden. Place his hands and feet in the shackles, take a second to close them. 

 

Observes the vibranium necklace against his throat. 

 

He finds ironic that his shield, with which he once freed so many, is now suffocating him. The general image is a wrinkled photo of what he once was.

 

Looks away. 

 

Shame is a poor replacement for anger. 

 

"Here", he calls. 

 

Tony, _the_ Tony of his memory, looks at him with tired eyes. Rests his elbows on his knees. Turns something with his fingers.

 

He’s wearing the same three-piece suit as he was in the conference room. _Sometimes I want to punch you in your perfect teeth_. A broken laugh escapes from his throat, contained by the gag. 

 

Tony smiles. 

 

"Have you heard about the multiverse?", Tony waits a few seconds like he’s giving him time to talk. He shrugs at the silence that followed. "Let's say that our world is not the only one. The space-time that we know shares with other space-time within this same reality. String theory...", he reclines on the couch,"I'm boring you. I'll reword it". 

 

Takes off his tie.  

 

"There are worlds," he continues, "where you never crash that plane. There are worlds where Erskine does not die. There are worlds where you do not exist. You are born in the sixteenth century, you die in Ancient Egypt. Let's not limit ourselves: there are worlds where you are dreamed by someone, there are worlds where you are the Quixote. Worlds where you are a stumbling tongue. Infinity of other worlds conditioned by time and space". 

 

"I've visited a few," he says, standing up and walking towards him with his tie tight in one hand. "I said to myself: maybe the shit did not get stuck in this or that. Maybe I do not have this, you know, little heart problem. Maybe I never had to fight with you. _Maybe"_ , blindfold and tie a knot behind Steve’s head. His breath brushes Steve's cheek, " _maybe you_ dropped the shield a few inches deeper".

 

Steve begins to believe that he should have done it. 

 

"No matter what I found there, there is a coincidence that I could not ignore:", he sits on his thighs, Steve's cock shakes, "in all the worlds where we know each other I'm fucking miserable. There's no happy ending, Steve,” pinches one of his nipples, "it's not like I didn’t know". 

 

When Tony tries to take his face, Steve shakes his head. Something in the darkness that brings the fight back to him.

 

Tony bites his chest. 

 

"This guy, you met him", smile collides against his skin. "I think he’s a little love with you, darling".

 

Someone laughs at his right. Steve trembles. 

 

"You're dead," they caress his hair, he tries to dodge the touch, "Oh, now you start to look at him, growl at me a little more and we'll have a deal". 

 

His breathing quickens, he wants to vomit, _please do not do it_ . He has done it at other times. 

 

 _Tony..._  

 

Tony licks his nipples and Tony licks his cheek. Steve's eyes burn. His throat is dry. There is no benevolence, this is a kind of revenge. Even if he fights, there's no way he can get away from here, from Tony. 

 

Someone sticks a tongue in his mouth and Steve feels his face wet with tears. _You're not him_. And yet, those are Tony's hands, those are his clothes and that's his voice. The blindfold only strengthens the knowledge. The fact that he did not recognize him before, every time he screwed up while he thought there could be nothing worse than this, this...

 

"I loved you," someone says. 

 

Steve sobs.  

 

Tony's saliva falls from his jaw and mixes with Steve's. He is not going to stop, he realizes, _and why the fuck would he do it_ , if he did not do it before. Tony, no matter what, squeezes his nipples harder, kisses his neck, sucks the skin. 

 

 _They_ squeeze his ankle. Imagine the blue eyes, funny, pretending that it is not damaged, that it is not a failed prototype. Pretending he doesn’t care. 

 

 _The others didn’t finish the job_.

 

A nail scrapes the base of his cock. Tony slides hands across his belly, then up onto his chest. 

 

"You will take it", he orders, hands on the skin of the inside of his thighs, "you will take everything". 

 

The hands on his chest make circles in his areolas and rise up to encircle his neck. He hears the sound of a zipper and then Tony's cock pushes inside his mouth. The weight on his tongue is known, like the burn on his nipples; his cock is hard, he is ashamed, he cries, he tries to breathe. 

 

The hands on his thighs rise and fall in warning. 

 

"You look like that," he moans, the hands that were on his neck pass to his hair, hold the tie and push his head back. Tony's cock lashes his throat. Steve lets _Tony_ fuck his mouth, tries not to throw up. 

 

Tries not to feel. 

 

  * ••



 

The first blow of the whip makes him scream. 

 

  * ••



 

Tony gets angry. Tony makes him kneel in broken glass. Tony blames him for things Steve doesn’t remember doing. 

 

  * •• 



 

He has a cock in his ass and another in his throat. Tony, brown eyes fixed on him, holds his hair and forces him to look in the mirror. _Just a body_ , Tony whispers. 

 

Steve will stay for hours watching the semen on his face, the dark spot under his hips. He will see his bruised lips and his reddened eyes.

 

It will take even longer to recognize himself.

 

  * ••



 

They give him a dish with something like oatmeal and he eats it on all fours. 

 

 _Don’t waste anything_. 

 

  * ••



 

"You know," Tony pours himself another drink, dark blue eyes and the whiskey-colored robe, "my Steve wouldn't have surrendered so easily".

 

Steve laughs, barely holding his broken wrist. 

 

  * ••



 

Tony positions him like a doll on the floor. He sits on the sofa behind him, washes the wounds on his back. Soothes his burnt flesh, the lacerations on his ribs. Combs his hair. 

 

It's Tony's favorite torture. 

 

  * ••



 

He remembers, sometimes, that he also loved Tony. 

 

He doesn’t think any of them knows. 

 

So he keeps the secret. 

 

 


End file.
